I Can't
by Keketra
Summary: Just after Peter and Edmund have received conformation that Aslan is dead, Peter muses the task ahead. Poss one shot, depends on reviews :
1. Peter

I Can't

Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. It all belongs to CS Lewis.

A/N: This is intended as a one shot, but if people like it, I might continue it on for the other siblings too... so let me know :)

Setting: Just after Peter and Edmund have recieved conformation that Aslan is dead. Moviebased.

------

Peter stared at the map, his heart heavy. How could they expect him to do this? He was eighteen years old! He wasn't strong enough, logical enough, sure enough to do this... he looked up at Edmund. "I _can't_!" he said despairingly, hoping that Edmund would be able to understand just how much Peter really couldn't do this.

_"Take care of the others"_

_"I will, mum"... _

his mother's voice resounded in his head. Well he'd stuffed that one up, hadn't he? Well and truly. Edmund had been captured, almost killed, Susan and Lucy had almost been killed by a wolf, only he remained unharmed.

_"Look after them, son. You're the man of the house now, alright?"_

_"Yes dad, I will dad..."_

_"Make me proud, Peter..."_

His father's voice joined his mother's, and Peter swallowed. Would he ever see his father again? He didn't think so, but who was he to voice that thought to the others? They were still clinging to reminents of hope... hope that Peter had long ago forsaken. His father had wanted to be proud of Peter, but Peter wondered, would he ever be proud of a failure?

"Aslan believed you could," Edmund's voice cut through Peter's thoughts, and the older boy turned helpess eyes onto his brother. _Oh Ed, if only you knew how scared I am of all this... but you won't, you won't ever. I don't want to get hurt; I don't want you or the girls to get hurt, yet you refuse to leave... _"so do I."

The three words made Peter freeze. He looked down at the map briefly, before looking up and meeting his brother's trusting gaze. He swallowed back the fear. _Perhaps I can't win this battle. Perhaps I can't stop the Witch taking over Narnia, and perhaps I can't save my brother or my sisters. But I will try._

A/N: Okay, what do you think? Love, hate? Awful, or good? Press that little button on the left down there, and review away!!


	2. Edmund

I Can't

Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia... which is probably a good thing, considering what I do to the poor characters. It all belongs to CS Lewis.

A/N: Okay, I was asked for another chapter, so here it is! Hope you enjoy it guys! Oh, just a quickie, the italics are memories of what different people say up to this point... so definately movieverse...

_Edmund_

I watched him. I could see the indecision cross his face, the lack of self-belief in his eyes. I wanted to shake him out of his helplessness, but I knew that only he could do that. After all, I had not helped him maintain his confidence. I had knocked him down so, so many times. Even when he tried playing at being dad, I knew why, and yet I mercilessly groaned, grumbled and complained at him whenever he did so. He started off unsure enough; I just made it worse.

_"Oh will you just stop? You just have to make everything worse, don't you?!"_

_"It was just a joke!!"_

_"When are you going to learn to grow up?!"_

_"Stop it!! You think you're Dad, but you're NOT!"_

I suppose I was jealous. Peter was always 'Peter the Perfect' to everyone but me. I thought only I could see the flaws; either that or everyone else was just so blinded by his perfection they ignored the flaws that stood out like a sore thumb in my eyes. I know now that it was the other way round. _I_ refused to see the good, only acknowledging the bad, and encouraging the bad. Peter was so easily agitated, though. Even though he barely retaliated, it was so easy to upset him. I found myself enjoying my merciless torture, and did it more and more often, especially when mum refused to see what I was doing. Or at least I think she did; she never pulled me aside to tell me otherwise. Susan saw, I know, but she could do nothing, only glare at me as she still does today from time to time. Lucy was the one who saw most; for I did a small amount to her of what I did to Peter. I was jealous of the connection the two had - not romantic, on any level, naturally, it was a sibling connection I could never share with any of my siblings. Peter and Lucy seemed to understand each other. Lucy was Peter's favourite, and he made no secret of it. Susan didn't seem to mind, but I did. I hated that he always took her side, and went out of my way to upset either her or him so much that they'd snap.

Not that it was easy, as I've already said, to make Peter snap. I've only ever once seen him react to my merciless bullying. Looking back on it now, I feel sickened by myself, and hope that Peter can find a way to forgive me. That was when things changed between us for good. I didn't know how long he'd been doing it for; I was afraid to ask. And I refused to talk to anyone else about it, especially Susan, for I knew that I was the reason behind it, and I didn't want to admit that. Not to her, not to Peter, not to Lucy even. And definately not to mother.

_"You will listen to your brother, won't you, Edmund?"_

That was when I began to see the flaws in Peter. Before, I was like the others, only able to see the perfection of my older brother, and I hated, _loathed_, him for it. But I hated him even more for his imperfections. I know it doesn't make sense. Looking back, I wonder how it could have ever made sense, even in my mind, twisted and sick as it had been back then.

I still remember finding him. I wanted to tease him about some blunder he'd made at school. He'd said something about Einstine (not that I had a clue about that kind of thing back then, but still, I knew that Peter had made a mistake and that was all that mattered to me), and I had already teased him once about it, but once was not enough. I barged into his room without knocking, and began to rant at him without even looking at him. I stopped only after I'd had my fill. Looking down, I'd seen him with the knife, in the corner of the room, his wrist bleeding. I was stunned into silence. Peter was crying, actually _crying_, something my mind refused to believe. Peter didn't cry. He _never_ cried.

For the first time ever, I almost began to feel remorse for my teasings. Peter had always been picked on at school. But not because he was stupid in any way; in fact it was the opposite reason. People were jealous (like me, I hate to admit) of his inteligence. Peter was able to hold a debate without a thought, and others hated him for it. He was able to argue intelligently about anything that might present itself, be it maths, science, literature, or philosophy. Even psychology he could hold his own. We hated him for it, and teased him. But when he'd made that mistake in science, we pounced on it. Peter the Perfect, as he was nicknamed, had made a mistake! Oh, how we laughed, we laughed till Peter dropped his eyes back to his textbook, mumbling fumbling apologies and fumbling for his pen.

My heart hardened again though, when he spoke, ordering me out of his room. I thought indignently that there was no _way_ on Earth that he was going to order me around. I knelt next to him, hatred in my eyes, and hissed in his ear that if he were going to do harm to himself, then he might as well kill himself and let us be rid of his stupidity, before leaving the room.

Two hours later, Peter was rushed to hospital.

I have never told anyone what happened then. I am too ashamed of myself; too sickened by what I've done, to Peter. He is my _brother_, we are meant to look out for each other, and I made him feel so bad about himself that he... I can't even write it now.

So when he said those two words, with such simplicitiy, yet with such _despair_, I could not turn away. I knew it was my time to try and make things right with him, try to show him that I had changed... for the better. I had hated him for trying to be like father, but I had been the one who'd been there when father had told Peter to look after us. And then when mother had asked Peter to do the same thing. It was beginning to dawn on me that I hadn't exactly helped Peter keep his promise. More than likely he thought he was failing her... dad... _us_. And I knew only I could change his mind.

_"Take care of the others..."_

_"I will, mum..."_

_"Good man..."_

"Aslan believed you could." I hesitated, before looking at the top of my brother's head, bowed with what I'm sure was shame over the map, despair dropping his shoulders as his hands leaned against the table. "And so do I."

**A/N: okay, I seriously have no idea where _that _came from... the whole thing with Peter, I swear! But I just started writing, and this is what came out. I liked it, so I'm keeping it. I hope people don't want to kill me for making Peter angsty again! Please review, even if you do. Cookies for those of you who don't want me dead! ;)**


	3. Susan

I Can't

_Susan_

As Lucy and I made our way on Aslan's back to wherever he takes us, I can't help but think to where my two brothers are at Aslan's camp, planning a battle which will change all our lives. Have they finally made up? I know something keeps them apart, but Peter has refused so many times to tell me what it is, and until now Edmund has been impossible to reach.

I try to remember when it all started. When father left? No, I think it was far sooner. What about when Edmund went to that school? Yes, that sounds about right. I remember being confused. Father and mother hated boarding schools... so why send Edmund to one? I asked Peter, and he simply shrugged, saying he didn't know and perhaps it would all work out for the best in the end anyway.

Peter was never the same, either, after Edmund went. Once upon a time my older brother was able to relax, smile, laugh and play like the rest of us. Slowly, though, he became more and more withdrawn, reserved. When I confronted him about it, he simply said it was all part of growing up, and that one day I would reach that stage. Accordingly, I did so, but only because Peter had. I don't believe he knew how much influence he had over me back then. He was my older brother, I looked up to him so much. So when he pushed me aside, as he did from time to time, it hurt. I would be left alone, confused, for I admit I had very few friends at school. I was too 'logical' for those girls. For some reason I was never able to play at make-believe like they were. My thoughts were consumed with philosophy, science, English. Shakespeare sonnets and Freudian theories were the way to keep me interested.

Peter grew frustrated with me; he said I was going overboard. Mother said the same, as did father. They said I should enjoy childhood while I still could. I was always trying to be more adult than everyone around me, or so they said. Peter once asked me how I could be so smart, and I remember replying, rather snottily now I look back on it simply two words: "I _read._"

_"I'm just trying to be realistic!"_

_"No, you're trying to be smart! As _usual_!" _

Peter was growing more depressed; Edmund was growing more and more like a bully. I began to hate one brother, despair for the other. Whilst I tried to keep Edmund from locking Lucy in the cupboard or something similar, I would be trying to keep Peter from locking _himself_ in the study room with his books. And then one day something happened none of us expected.

I came home one evening from a friend's with Lucy to find that Peter had been rushed to hospital unexpectedly. Edmund was locked in his room and refused to come out. Something inside twisted my gut; telling me that something had occurred between the two, but I could not, for the life of me, work out what it might be.

It took Peter a month to recover, but after that, he was never the same. He was no longer able to joke around with us. If it were possible, he secluded himself more and more. And then... then came the war. It had been a growing threat for months and months, but none of us wanted to acknowledge the fact that father might be called up. His leaving devastated us all: Peter more though. I don't know to this day what father said to my brother, but whatever it was, Peter took it seriously, to heart.

He started taking over father's duties. Putting Lucy to bed, reading her a bedtime story, making sure that Edmund had done his homework. Hoping to put his mind at rest somewhat, I made sure my chores were always done hours before he came to check on me. Peter seemed to appreciate my effort, and we grew a lot closer. We talked deep into the night, about every single topic you could imagine; excluding the war and father.

A month passed, and Edmund returned home from school. Things began to heat up again, until that night with the raids, when he went back for father's photograph. The next day, mother told me that we were all going to be sent away. We were becoming evacuees. At the station, I saw something in Peter's eyes that scared me. Longing.

_"Tickets please, May I have your tickets, please?"_

_"Peter."_

_"Yes... thank you."_

He seemed so distant that day, yet he was trying to be strong at the same time. I could tell he was scared, but he was trying to reassure us all. Lucy was trying not to cry, and although Peter looked longingly at the soldiers going off to war, he tried to calm her, reassure her.

_"We have to stick together now; everything's going to be alright... it's going to be fine..."_

I wonder whether that soldier reminded Peter of father. Now I think back on it, I think it probably did. Or more correctly, it reminded him of what _he_ might have to do in a few years time.

But now my brother is in a battle of his own. A battle none of us can escape, no matter what we do. I pray that he and Edmund can sort out their differences, finally forgive each other for whatever wall lies between them.

_"Are you alright?"_

_"I'm a little tired..."_

_"Get some sleep. And Edmund... try not to wonder off."_

It is all very well for Peter to come to me for advice, but he needs his brother too. And, as much as he hates to admit it, Edmund needs Peter. More than anything, Peter has become his father figure. I'd go so far as to say that Peter has become _all_ of our father figure.

It makes me wonder: what happens if - no, _when_, father returns from the war? It makes me scared for Peter. He has finally found a purpose in this life; so what will happen should it be ripped away from him? I only hope the strength of his siblings' love is enough to pull him through.

My thoughts return to Edmund and Peter. May Aslan be with them, though he is with us. May Father, wherever he be, in battle or in sleep, may he guide them.


End file.
